


be right back

by frozensight



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:46:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4089205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozensight/pseuds/frozensight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey Specter likes being prepared for anything. It makes things go smoothly.</p><p>Mike Ross, however, isn't always as prepared as Harvey would like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	be right back

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been sitting in my evernote since March, and I finally got around to finishing it up. It kinda went ways I didn't expect but that happens all the time so I'm not even surprised.
> 
> Set in ambiguously in like s1 or thereabouts.

The number one rule Harvey Specter likes to live by, is to always be prepared. 

He’s far from being a boy scout—he’ll be the first to testify to that—but he’s got to give them credit for having such a great motto. 

The times in his life that he has been woefully unprepared can be counted on his hands, and he prefers to pretend those moments don’t exist now that they’ve passed. Harvey prepares for everything, even the unexpected and sometimes even the improbable and the impossible. 

It’s safe to say, however, that since Mike Ross has joined Pearson-Hardman, Harvey’s batting average for preparedness has been a little lower than he’s used to it being. Shit still gets done and like hell would Harvey let the kid stay if he consistently lost, but he had thought that having an associate was supposed to _increase_ his efficiency not _lower_ it. 

Which isn’t to say that Mike doesn’t do good work—because he does—and for all that he screws up and causes Harvey headaches with his incessant worrying about being discovered, he’s got the making of greatness in him. He just needs to be more organized, to think ahead, and for god’s sake to get rid of his goddamn skinny ties. 

This, as Harvey loves to remind him, is why Mike is still a junior associate and Harvey is a senior partner. 

Typically Mike will just roll his eyes and walk out of Harvey’s office, files in hand. Harvey then usually smiles to himself, avoiding the expression Donna shoots at him, and very pointedly does not _say_ anything. Just because Donna knows everything doesn’t mean Harvey gives her the satisfaction of him _confirming_ anything. 

Because below his rule about being prepared—and a step or two down from always winning and being right—is Harvey’s rule about not caring. While the whole ‘not caring’ thing is almost exclusively for clients and work related drama that Harvey could write up and sell to a soap opera if he was so inclined, it’s also how Harvey tries to come off to everyone. He doesn’t want them getting attached to him and vice versa, but considering how deeply involved Harvey has immersed himself in Mike’s career, saying he doesn’t care only goes so far. Even Mike is beginning to not buy Harvey’s ‘reluctant to find another competent associate’ routine. 

“Why can’t you just admit I’m awesome and that you love having me around?” 

Harvey doesn’t look up from the files Mike has just handed him. “If I were to admit to that, I’d be committing perjury, and you know how I feel about that.” 

Sometimes Donna comes into his office after Mike leaves, and Harvey ignores her. He refuses to be the first to speak in these little confrontations she insists on having. 

Today is no different. 

“Harvey, throw the kid a bone.” 

“He’s relatively intelligent. I say let him find the bone on his own.” 

“You do remember he’s a human being and not an actual puppy, right?” Harvey snorts, but continues flipping through the papers on his desk. He’s not absorbing any of the information that's for his deposition in a couple hours, but it distracts him from Donna’s looming presence in front of him. “He can’t read your mind, Harvey; you have to _speak_ to him. You know, with your _words_?” 

“I know how speech works, Donna.” 

“Do you? Because considering the way you never seem to say what you mean, I was beginning to think I’d have to retrain you.” 

He raises an eyebrow at her, taking a chance and glancing up. “Who’s using the puppy metaphor now?" 

Donna rolls her eyes, the faintest of smiles on her lips, but Harvey can’t tell if it’s amused or exasperated—probably both. “We both know that I know what you don’t want Mike to know, but I’m telling you, that he needs to know because maybe he knows something that you could stand to know too.” 

It takes a couple seconds to take apart what she’d just said, but when Harvey gets the gist, he goes back to his files. “I’ll take it under advisement. Are you done?” 

“For now.” 

She walks away, and Harvey straightens up the files before turning his chair away from his office door so he can look out the window and continue avoiding Donna. 

He's a grown man; he'll confront his emotions when he damn well pleases. He's certainly not going to admit to anyone (not even Donna) that he cares for Mike more than he really should as an employer. Harvey's a professional, goddamnit, and he's not about to let something like _feelings_ get in the way of work. Besides, the rookie's got to be at least ten years younger than Harvey, and is constantly wagging his tail while he follows that paralegal around anyway. Plus with how many times Harvey has put his job and career on the line for Mike, it hardly seems necessary to vocally announce that he cares about him, no matter what Donna says. 

\----- 

Harvey’s first mistake is that he doesn’t push Mike away when his associate kisses him in the office late one Friday night. Everyone’s gone, so it’s not from fear of exposure that almost makes Harvey backpedal, but rather that it’s _Mike_. Don’t get Harvey wrong, he’s enjoyed the company of a few men now and then; however, Mike isn’t them. 

Mike’s the one who pulls away when Harvey doesn’t respond. His face contorts in confusion. “Did I read this wrong?” He gestures between the two of them, Harvey’s hands gripping Mike’s upper arms gently, the distance between them minimal, which causes Mike’s finger to brush against Harvey’s chest. “Because I thought flirting was supposed to be a cue that someone was interested in another person, and while I’m not an expert in the subject, I’m pretty sure _you are_.” 

He snorts. “You make it sound like I’ve only flirted with _you_ recently. I ask Donna to marry me every other week.” 

“There’s a difference between the act of flirting, and _meaning it_ , Harvey, and I like to think I’ve watched you enough to know when you mean it.” That surprises Harvey a little, and once again he’s reminded just how sharp Mike is when he’s not smoking pot or being immature. 

“And what, exactly, makes you believe that I mean it with you?” 

He’s stalling and he’s pretty sure Mike knows it because he grins widely as he glances at Harvey’s hands that are still touching him. “Well, for one, you haven’t kicked me out of your office yet, and two, we’re even having this conversation.” 

The kid’s got him there. 

Harvey shrugs, pulling his hands back to himself and putting them into his pockets. “Evidence like that would hardly hold up in court.” 

“Then it’s a good thing we’re not going past the hearing.” Mike steps closer to Harvey, and Harvey forces himself to stay still. “Let’s make a deal, Harvey; I know you like deals. If I kiss you again and you kiss me back this time, we go back to my place.” 

With one eyebrow raised, Harvey asks, “And if I don’t?” 

Mike smiles crookedly. “If I kiss you again and nothing happens, then I’ll walk out of this office and we’ll never speak of this.” He leans in closer, eyes locked with Harvey’s as he licks his own lips. “Deal?” 

“Deal,” murmurs Harvey, unable to look anywhere but at Mike, which leads him to his second mistake of the night—agreeing to the deal. 

Naturally, when Mike kisses him again, Harvey’s plan is to remain uninvolved and end this whole affair before it starts, but then Mike decides to go for broke. His hands are cradling Harvey’s face, their bodies are flush together, and Mike’s teeth tug lightly at Harvey’s bottom lip. Reflex and pent-up desire kick in, and Harvey opens his mouth. He nearly pulls away, but then he decides _fuck it_ , figuring he might as well teach his associate yet another lesson. 

They kiss until Mike pulls away again; Harvey refrains from voicing his annoyance, which would only indict him further. The smug smirk on Mike’s face should be infuriating—unbearable even—but rather Harvey finds himself rolling his eyes and grinning back. 

“Didn’t think Harvey Specter would give in so easily,” comments Mike, his hands sliding down so that his arms are resting on Harvey’s shoulders. 

“Who said I gave in? How do you know I wasn’t planning for it to work out this way from the beginning?” 

Mike laughs as he pats Harvey’s cheek and steps back. “Because if you’d been planning it, we wouldn’t be going back to my apartment; we’d be going to yours.” 

That is when Harvey realizes he’s made his third mistake. 

\----- 

“I can’t believe you still live in this dump,” murmurs Harvey between kisses as Mike walks backwards into his own apartment. 

“I can’t believe you think I care what you think about my apartment,” replies Mike, spinning them around so he can shut and lock the door without losing contact with Harvey. They kiss, Mike now leaning on the door, with Harvey pressing against him. 

“You do own a proper bed at least, right?” asks Harvey of Mike’s neck as he places a kiss there. 

Mike gives a breathy laugh, one hand curling into Harvey’s suit jacket—Harvey’s sure it’ll wrinkle the suit and probably maybe even ruin it, and he’s not sure what it says that in that moment he doesn’t care. “Yes, Harvey, I have a bed.” 

“Good,” Harvey whispers into Mike’s ear, “Let’s go there then.” 

“Aye aye, Captain,” says Mike, grin back on his face, and Harvey knows that’s a crack at him being a Trekkie, but at the same time he can’t help the shiver that runs down his back as Mike grabs his tie and pulls him towards where the bed hides in a small alcove. 

As they start stripping, Harvey thinks briefly that maybe they’re moving too fast, that maybe if they want this to be something that they should slow down, but then he thinks of all the late nights in his office pouring over cases, of all the times he’s paid for Mike to eat dinner with him, and realizes that maybe they’ve actually been sort of dating without anyone realizing besides Donna. 

“Hey, Harvey.” He shakes his head and looks up from where he’d been undoing his pants to Mike, who’s stretched out on top of the bed—naked, waiting, and grinning. “You gonna join me anytime soon?” 

He grumbles under his breath about cheeky associates, but that doesn’t hide the fact that Harvey shucks his pants off faster and with more vigor. Mike doesn’t try to hide his laughter as Harvey crawls onto the bed and on top of him, only stopping when they’re face to face and kissing again. 

Their hands now able to explore more of each other, speech basically ends outside of groans, moans, and the occasional utterance of _fuck_. Harvey’s been making his way from Mike’s mouth down his chest, kissing and biting softly. He spends some time on each of Mike’s nipples, smirking as hands find their way into his hair and grip tightly. He’s about to finally get to his goal when Mike tugs on Harvey’s hair to make him look up. 

“Wait a second, Harvey.” 

Harvey pauses, then grins and says, “Done,” before bowing his head back down and taking Mike’s cock into his mouth without bothering to hear what Mike had wanted to say. 

It can’t have been too important, Harvey reasons, because Mike’s next words are: “Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Harvey!” and Harvey’s kinda really proud of himself for that one. 

Mike keeps muttering variations of _fuck_ and _oh god_ as Harvey continues to hollow out his cheeks around Mike’s cock and then lick every inch of it. He can tell how close Mike is getting by the increased frequency of incoherent noises mixed with fingers gripping his hair tighter. Harvey’s pretty sure Mike tries to warn him that he’s about to come, but all that Mike manages is: “Harv-nngh!” as Harvey cuts him off by humming, his throat as relaxed as he can manage and Mike as far down it as possible. 

When Harvey’s swallowed and Mike’s regained the ability to breathe, though heavily, Mike mumbles, “You shouldn’t have done that without a condom.” 

Harvey raises an eyebrow at his associate. “Are you implying that you might possibly have an STD, Michael?” 

He scoffs at the use of his first name as he lamely props himself on his elbows so he can meet Harvey’s eyes more easily. “No, it’s just good _practice_ , Harvey, which is what I was trying to tell you before you were you.” 

“I’m sorry I just gave you what was very likely the best head of your life,” says Harvey, licking his lips and still tasting the salty bitterness on tongue, as he inched back up to hover over Mike, who can’t seem to stop watching Harvey’s mouth. He kisses Mike softly, rubbing his own still frustratingly hard cock against Mike’s thigh. “Speaking of condoms though, where is one?” Mike opens his mouth, brow furrowed, about to probably ask why when Harvey pushes down with his hips a little more forcefully. The strangled moan that leaves Mike as he scrambles towards the nightstand makes Harvey grin; a grin that only widens when Mike settles back underneath him, a small box in his hands. 

“We have a problem,” starts Mike, and Harvey rolls his eyes. 

“C’mon, kid. We’re using a condom _now_ , what could you possibly have a problem with?” Mike doesn’t say anything; he turns the box upside down to illustrate his point. Harvey stares as nothing falls out the box. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

“Unfortunately, no,” sighs Mike, throwing the box away, in what Harvey can only assume was the general direction of a trash can. 

Harvey rests his forehead on Mike’s shoulder, choosing to focus on how Mike’s fingers are playing with his hair instead of the bubbling frustration inside of him. “Okay, so what’s plan B, genius?” 

“Well, I guess it means I need to go grocery shopping.” 

Harvey turns his head so that he can at least see Mike’s chin. “Grocery shopping.” 

“Do you have a better idea, Harvey? Because by all means, speak up.” 

He doesn’t. All of his own supplies are at _his_ apartment, tucked away safely in _his_ nightstand because Harvey’s _always prepared_ and has long since moved on from carrying around a condom in his wallet because he’s not in college anymore. 

“That’s what I thought,” Mike carries on when Harvey remains silent, “So get off me and I’ll make a quick run to get what we need.” 

Harvey’s head shoots up, and he gapes at Mike. “Wait, you’re going _right now_?” 

Mike raises his eyebrows at him, traces of amusement on his face that Harvey would really like to do something about. “Yes, Harvey, I’m going _right now_ , or did you think I’d make an exception for you and we’d continue without condoms?” 

“Well…” 

“For your information,” Mike begins as he pushes Harvey off him so he can get up. As he’s hopping into a pair of jeans that’d been lying on the floor, he adds, “I’m out of lube too, so even if I was willing to have unprotected sex with you, there’s no way we’re getting anywhere without lube.” 

Harvey groans as he rolls over onto his back, lazily watching Mike as he hastily layers up. “I can’t believe this is happening. Is your sex life so sad that you actually forget you need to buy condoms and lube?” 

Chuckling, Mike leans over to kiss Harvey deeply before walking to the door, slipping into shoes as he does so. Over his shoulder, he calls, “Did you ever think that maybe my sex life has been sad because I’ve been waiting for a particularly stubborn asshole to realize I was even waiting?” 

That makes Harvey’s stomach clench in a way he didn’t think was still possible for a guy like him, and he’s glad that Mike can’t see the dopey smile on his face. “Just hurry up and get the condoms, Ross.” 

“Yeah, yeah, bossy as always.” The door opens, but before it shuts, Mike adds, “Don’t go anywhere and try to keep your mini-Harvey ready to go; I’ll be back in a jiffy!” 

Harvey huffs, simultaneously amused and annoyed at his current situation, and tells Mike’s ceiling, “Un-fucking-believable.” 

Incredibly, however, it makes perfect sense that things happened this way, Harvey thinks. Because now he has a last chance to back out, to run. He can still stop while he’s ahead (hah!) and get away with his pride still intact. Mike would be pissed and from what Harvey’s gathered from context clues, more than a little bit hurt, but Harvey has faith he’d get over it. It’d be better for them, he reasons, because office flings (or romances) almost always end in flames. It’s only a matter of time before something goes wrong, somebody finds out, or someone fucks up. 

“I’d be saving him, really,” Harvey mutters to the ceiling. It doesn’t say anything back, but somehow he gets the feeling it’s frowning at him. 

To get away from the possibly judgmental ceiling, he gets out of the bed. He stands by his suit, crumpled in a pile on the floor, and wonders what he’s really doing there besides waiting for Mike to come back. He picks up his suit, but doesn’t put it back on. Instead he lays it over the back of the couch so that it won’t get more wrinkled than it already is. 

Harvey stares at it, unsure of whether he’s making the right choice or not, and he’s about to second guess himself when his phone goes off. Confused, he fishes it out of his pants pocket, snorting when he sees that it’s a text from Mike. 

_the look i just got from the cashier better be worth your dick in me_

He laughs, replying with: _Hurry back and you’ll find out_. 

Mike’s response is quick and in the form of a winking emoticon-thing. Harvey would roll his eyes, but the effect is lost when there’s no one there to see the gesture. He glances over at the ceiling above the bed, almost like he expects a face to appear, and then chastises himself for even thinking it. 

Belatedly he realizes he has decided to stay, and he smiles as he walks back to the bed and gets on it, setting his phone over on top of the nightstand so it’ll be closer. For a moment he debates about sending a text to Donna, possibly admitting to her that she was right before she figures out what happened on her own—and she will the second she sees him and/or Mike next, but he’s saved from the choice when he hears Mike fumbling with his keys to unlock the door. 

By the time Mike makes it into the apartment, Harvey’s grinning and sitting propped up against the pillows. Skidding across the hardwood floor, Mike nearly falls rather than stop in front of the bed, a small plastic bag in his right hand. 

“I’m back,” he declares, panting. 

“I see that, but what I don’t see is you naked and on this bed with me.” 

Mike smiles, and in that moment Harvey can’t imagine why he even considered ducking out. The bag gets thrown at Harvey’s face, and he briefly investigates the contents—a box of condoms and a medium sized bottle of lube. When he looks back up, Mike is struggling to shake his pants off and pull his t-shirt over his head at the same time. Rolling his eyes, Harvey sets the bag aside and crawls forward to help Mike out of his clothes, their eyes meeting after the t-shirt pulls free of Mike’s head. 

He wiggles the rest of the way out of his jeans and then rests his forehead against Harvey’s. “Thanks.” 

“It’s the least I could do considering your dedication to getting laid. After all,” Harvey begins as he drags Mike onto the bed with him, “you faced down a cashier who was giving you a look for buying sex products in the middle of the night.” 

“I deserve a medal,” murmurs Mike, pressing a kiss to Harvey’s mouth, “or at the very least to be fucked into my own bed.” 

“I think I can come up with something,” replies Harvey as he flips Mike over, kissing him soundly. 

\----- 

Thank God the next morning is Saturday, Harvey thinks as he lays in Mike's bed, with Mike's arms and legs wrapped around him, and Mike's breath tickling his ear. Because he really hates the idea of rushing back to his apartment to get a clean suit, for there is _no way in hell_ that Donna wouldn't notice Harvey R. Specter wearing the same suit two days in a row. He at least wants to make her work for the right to say I told you so. 

"You think too loud," grumbles Mike groggily, turning his face into Harvey's shoulder. 

"Oh I'm sorry. Is my intellect too much for you to handle?" 

Mike huffs out a laugh. "Please, I can handle Harvey Specter just fine. I just prefer to do so when fully awake and caffeinated." 

"Believe me, kid; you don't need caffeine." Mike raises his head enough so Harvey can see his furrowed brow, and Harvey places a kiss right in the middle of it, patting his back. "I've tasted your semen—you drink too much coffee." 

Shaking his head, Mike says, "I don't know if I should be offended or impressed." 

Harvey smirks, "Most people settle for both." 

Rolling over so that he’s half-laying on top of Harvey, Mike rests his chin on Harvey’s chest. “I could do a whole lot worse than settle for Harvey Specter, so I think I’ll get over it.” 

There it is again—that clench of Harvey’s stomach—and this time Mike’s right there, able to see his face and everything that Mike might parse from his expression. He tries to avoid meeting Mike’s eyes, to gain a moment to sort things out in his mind, but Mike cuts him short by honking his nose. 

“Share your thoughts, old man.” 

“I am _not_ old.” 

“You call me kid; I call you old— _endearingly_.” He shifts so that his arms are crossed over Harvey’s chest, staring him down. “Now, tell me how you really feel.” 

He sighs, but makes eye contact with Mike anyway. “Honestly?” 

“Honestly.” 

“I’m happy.” Mike raises an eyebrow, like that’s too simple to warrant Harvey’s reaction, and Harvey rolls his eyes. “Not only am I happy, but I’m also… _content_.” 

Mike nods his head, and Harvey’s glad that he doesn’t have to verbalize everything because even for him that’s a bit much. “Me too.” They’re both silent for a bit, but they fill that silence with soft touches and smiles until Mike drums his fingers on Harvey’s shoulder. “Well if I can’t have coffee, then I’m _definitely_ having pancakes. You in?” 

Harvey snorts, his hands resting on Mike’s lower back, but he replies, “Yeah, I’m in.” 

“Awesome.” Mike pats Harvey’s chest before practically leaping out of bed. “You get to pay.” 

“ _Pay_?” Harvey sits up, propped on his elbows, “I thought we were _making_ pancakes?” 

Mike smirks at Harvey after he’s slipped on a shirt he pulled from somewhere—Harvey suspects the floor. “Do I look like the kind of guy who keeps a box of Bisquick around? Now come on, Harvey; we got pancakes to eat!” 

He groans, he gripes, and in general complains the entire time he gets ready alongside Mike, but never once do any of Harvey’s words carry weight. He threatens to leave, and Mike just laughs, catching Harvey’s hand in his and pulling him towards the door. 

“I mean it, Mike, I’ll go.” 

“Shut up, Harvey. We both know you’re not going anywhere.” 

Harvey wants to argue, to deny it and say he could leave any second, but he doesn’t. Instead he shuts up, and follows Mike to where the pancakes await them. 


End file.
